Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Pleasure's Foehn (29 page)

“What do you think?” Davan asked her husband. “Would you like to stay?”

Cair shrugged. “It’s up to you, wench.”

“Then it’s settled,” Tariq decreed, not giving Davan a chance to speak. “You will stay.”

“I guess we’ll stay,” Davan said with a sigh. Truth be told, she wanted to learn more about Tariq’s people and the thought of traveling during the second trimester of her pregnancy was a bit daunting.

Ahead of them was a sweeping vista of multi shades of green and blue interspersed with serpentine bands of dark brown.

“Theristes is an agriculturalist’s paradise,” Tariq said absently to no one in particular. “You can grow anything in its soil and my people are mostly vegetarian. I have not had juro in so long that my mouth is watering just saying the word. And gesiv!

How I long for a big platter of cold gesiv! Oh, and drinoy! How could I have forgotten about drinoy?”

Cair grinned to himself. The warrior was so edgy he was talking to hear himself talk.

The ship was skimming along over a carpet of lush green trees, so thick in number and so close together, you could not see the land beneath their sweeping boughs.

“That might be the rainforest,” Tariq suggested. “I’ve never been inside it but I am told it is a dense canopy of trees.”

“What about that mountain range over there?” Cair asked, pointing toward a jagged line of peaks that they were fast approaching on the leeward side.

“Doesn’t look familiar,” Tariq replied, shaking his head.

“How about the one to the north of that?”

Again Tariq shook his head. He was plucking at the arm of the chair, his breathing erratic.

“If you don’t calm down, you’re going to hyperventilate,” Davan warned.

“There!” Tariq suddenly yelled. “That’s Mount Korak!”

Davan whistled for the mountain range looming directly ahead of them spread out in the shape of a flying bird, its wings arched gracefully from a tall central peak that resembled a bird’s beak in profile. The striations down the two mountains that formed the winds looked like feathers carved in rock. It was a very imposing sight.

“The Raven,” Tariq said, fumbling with the safety harness. “That’s what korak means.”

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“Is your village close by?” Cair inquired, nudging his chin toward Tariq in a silent command for Davan to help the warrior with the harness.

“At the base of the mount,” Tariq said between clenched teeth. He was snatching at the buckle then before Davan could get up and assist him, ripped the entire thing from its mounting and tossed it aside.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Davan muttered.

Tariq was pressed against the port window, his nose to the thick glass. He was trembling from head to toe like a little boy hankering after candy.

“You’d best find a place to put us down, warrior, else he’ll shape shift and flow down there like smoke.”

Tariq’s head snapped around. “I can do that!” he said. “I can do that!”

“Don’t you dare!” Cair warned. “Act your age and wait until I’ve landed before you make a fool of yourself!”

His eyes narrowed, Tariq opened his mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and snapped his mouth shut, though his eyes remained thin slits of anger that promised revenge.

“Don’t annoy him, warrior,” Davan said in a low voice. “Remember how you felt when you were trying to find me?”

Cair turned to look at her. “Aye, wench. I remember it well.”

“Let’s find a place to set her down,” Davan said.

Banking away from the raven-shaped mountain range, Cair circled leeward then came in lower, scanning the land for a spot to land the craft. They passed over a serpentine river and could see a cataract to the south.

“My village is right beside the waterfall!” Tariq called out.

“How about there?” Davan asked, pointing to a flat area of land. Cair nodded and throttled back on the engines until the ship was hovering over the wide expanse of grassland. He did a quick readout to make sure their makeshift landing site was capable of holding the weight of the ship then began to lower her to the ground.

Tariq was pacing again, running his hands over and over each other in his agitation. His breathing was loud and quick as he waited for Cair to open the hatchway.

“We have company,” Cair said quietly.

There were ten to fifteen naked people standing just inside a copse of trees. They were carrying primitive weapons—spears and daggers from the looks of it—and they didn’t look welcoming.

“Did Bahiya see you captured, Tariq?” Davan asked.

“Aye,” he answered. “Will you open the damned door, Ghrian?”

“I think perhaps you should greet them first,” Cair suggested. “In your own language.” He flipped on the Vid-Com’s outside speaker.

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Tariq nodded and began speaking, his words beautifully rich, though neither Cair nor Davan understood what he was saying. The low sensuality of his voice brought one of the group forward, gently pushing aside those around her until she was at the forefront.

“I believe that’s his lady,” Davan whispered.

“Bahiya,” Tariq groaned.

Those on the ship watched the woman’s face pucker with confusion then clear to a beaming smile, which lit her features with an inner light that turned her beautiful face to exquisiteness. She started running toward the ship, her long hair billowing behind her.

“Open the door!” Tariq yelled. “Open the damned door!”

Cair reached out to type in the command to open the hatchway and had barely turned around before Tariq was leaping through the opening and running toward the woman, ripping his clothes apart as he ran.

“Reminds me of myself when I was a child,” Cair laughed. “My nanny could never keep my clothes on me.”

Davan reached out and took her husband’s hand as Tariq and Bahiya met on the grassy plain—he lifting her high, twirling her around and she with her hands braced on his naked shoulders, her head thrown back as she trilled with laughter. Tariq’s people came forward and formed a ring around the couple. They were slamming the ends of their spears against the ground and cheering. More people ventured from the forest, some of them ambling shyly toward the ship.

“Their Prime Reaper is home,” Davan said softly.

“Do you notice something about them?” Cair asked, obviously fascinated by what he was seeing.

“Aye,” Davan said. “They’re all naked.”

“And not an ugly one among them,” he said. “They are absolutely beautiful.”

“Not the kind of place where you’d find a girl having a bad hair day, I wouldn’t imagine,” his wife said with a sigh.

Cair turned to his wife. “Bad hair day or not, I’m more than satisfied with my lifemate.”

“You’d better be, warrior,” Davan snorted. “She’s the only one you’re ever going to have.”

Cair pulled her to him and she sat down in his lap. “I’ll be a very good boy,” he told her. “If I need to, I’ll walk on eggshells around her just to prove it.”

Their lips met and the kiss was as sweet as summer wine.

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About the Author

Charlee is the author of over thirty books. Married 39 years to her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons, Pete and Mike, and the proud grandmother of Preston Alexander and Victoria Ashley. She is the willing house slave to five demanding felines who are holding her hostage in her home and only allowing her to leave in order to purchase food for them. A native of Sarasota, Florida, she grew up in Colquitt and Albany, Georgia and now lives in the Midwest.

Charlotte welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Ave., Akron OH 44310.

Also by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Desire’s Sirocco

Ellora’s Cavemen: Legendary Tails I anthology

Fated Mates anthology

Longing’s Levant

Lucien’s Khamsin

Rapture’s Etesian

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC

on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

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